


A Perilous Job

by BritishParty



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritishParty/pseuds/BritishParty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Goggles and Shadow have done a job together. Can they pull it off alive, or will they mess up spectacularly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perilous Job

_"As of today, he is your partner."_  
The words rang through Rythian’s head yet again as glanced down at the tiny card he was holding. It was black, with silver inlay spelling out an address.  
“Of course I get Goggles,” he muttered sourly as he shouldered the heavy door open.  
The address belonged to a large house, smack in the center of town. No dark windows, no cracked stones in the wall, no nothing. It was simply just like any other house on that street, a street which was just like any other street in that city.  
Fitting in in plain sight was not Rythian’s style.  
He lived in the underground network, in an apartment that was part of a small system that Rythian, personally, accessed through a door behind the beer in the Crooked Caber’s basement. It was almost impossible to find, and his room looked like any other at a glance.  
There was nothing to set the Shadow apart from any other, lesser known assassin in the city. His neighbor was the King, the main man that ruled the underworld.  
Ridgedog.  
This was the man that found Rythian jobs. This was the man that found Goggles jobs. This was the man that had given them a job, together.  
Why together, Rythian didn’t know. The King knew Rythian hated Goggles. He knew that Rythian’s style was so far from Goggles’ that there was no way either of them could finish the job without killing the other, accidentally or not.  
A black-haired girl smiled at Rythian as she pushed past him, disappearing into the parlor to his left. Rythian recognized her instantly as Sounds, the girl who would sing in her high, sweet voice when her victims lay at her feet.  
A cough drew his gaze from the closed parlor door to the man leaning on the balcony railing, just up the stairs. He grinned at Rythian, as if enjoying the scowl distinguishable beneath his mask.  
“Long time no see, Rythian,” Lalna drawled as Rythian made his way up the steps.  
“Shadow to you, Goggles.” Rythian spat out Lalna’s work name as though he hated saying it.  
Lalna laughed. “You saw Nano, no? Beautiful girl. Beautiful voice. Though,” he added as he turned away, “You’d never want to hear it.”  
Rythian snorted. “I _have_ heard it. Maybe I’d hear it again if some damned crazy man had decided to give her to me instead of you.”  
Lalna tutted. “Now that’s no way to talk. I’m sure I can make you a lovely concert of screams.”  
Rythian glared at him. “I may kill for money, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”  
“Oh, you’re such a killjoy,” Lalna scolded him playfully as he opened the nearest door and ushered him inside.  
“You and Sounds should get married,” he murmured to himself. “Two people sunk into the depths of madness, covered in the blood of the innocents they slaughtered for money.”  
“‘Sunk into the depths of madness’?” Lalna raised his eyebrows at Rythian’s wording. “You always did have a way with speech.”  
“That’s not all I have a way with,” Rythian said as he glanced out the window. “Women and words. What an array of talents.”  
Lalna laughed flirtatiously. “Oh, and it’s not just the women.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he added teasingly, “You bad boy.”  
Rythian’s face turned bright red as Lalna sank into a chair, apparently oblivious to the purple eyes boring into him. The blond flicked a knife from inside his sleeve, carving a notch into the already pockmarked edge of his desk.  
“I thought you were drunk,” Rythian finally said to break the silence.  
“And I thought you were dead, darling,” Lalna said icily. “For two years, until one of your knives turned up on my doorstep with a message.”  
“Fair enough,” Rythian mumbled, looking everywhere but at the annoyed blonde sitting in front of him.  
“You left the night after you got drunk,” Lalna said. “Not me - you. You got drunk, and you used me, and you left.  
“They found you facedown in the Thames,” he spat. “You. No one knows how you survived, or how you supposedly died. You just let the entire world - and me - think you were dead.”  
Rythian shrugged as though it wasn’t his fault. “I was halfway across the country in handcuffs. Why else wouldn’t I have come back?”  
“Because,” Lalna said tightly, “When you got back, it was over a year before you let me know. I had sources,” he cut over Rythian’s protest. “Even the King admitted it when I specifically asked him.”  
A knock interrupted their argument. Nano pushed the door open, peering around the edge timidly.  
“Sorry to break this up,” she said, her voice high and soft and lovely, “But I’ve got a message for the Shadow.”  
“Right,” Lalna said, clearly recovering from the effort of holding back what he was going to say. “Right. Shadow, come back when you’re done.” He gestured for them to go outside.  
As soon as the door closed behind them, Rythian let out a long sigh of relief. “Thank god that’s over,” he muttered. “Best timing ever, Sounds.”  
“Better than the York Brewery?” Nano said with a small smile.  
“No,” Rythian immediately responded. “Don’t think any timing could ever beat that.”  
She grinned. “I dropped out of the sky with a sword and managed to patch up your throat in time. It’s nice to know the most famous assassin owes me one.”  
“Anyway,” Rythian said, clearing his throat. “Message? Before Goggles gets angry.”  
“Oh, right,” Nano said. “From the King. He said he doesn’t want a domestic dispute so can you please do this job first or you’ll kill each other.”  
Rythian groaned, knocking his head into the wall with a single thump. “Of course he’d say that,” he said flatly. “The affairs of his favorite pets must be quite fascinating to him.”  
“Affairs?” Nano asked, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Her brown eyes went wide as she realized what she’d said.  
Rythian sighed. “Long time ago, Sounds. Dead gossip. I was drunk, or as close to it as I get, and God knows what he was, and the next day I was supposedly dead in the Thames. Any questions?”  
“Are those two things… related?” She asked nervously. “Dying and… him?”  
“For me, they typically are,” Rythian said as he reached for the doorknob. “Stay away from him, Sounds. He’s going to go out with a bang, and I don’t want to be there when he does.”  
Nano nodded reluctantly. “I’ve only got one song left to sing for you, Shadow. Make sure I never do.”  
Rythian didn’t respond, merely going back inside the room and closing the door behind him. He went and sat in the chair Lalna had moved so it was across the desk, forcing the blond to be the center of Rythian’s attention.  
“What’s the job?” Rythian asked lightly, avoiding the topic on both of their minds.  
“It’s a big job. We have to kill the head of a company. At their meeting.”  
“Which company?” Rythian’s eyes gave away his relief at the distraction. “And which meeting?”  
“Company’s called the Yogs,” Lalna told him. “The biggest shipping company in Britian. They’re having a meeting in a week and a half, on November fifth.”  
“The man’s name? Background?”  
“Xephos Yogscast. Brown hair, blue eyes, surprisingly interested in astronomy. His wife is Lomadia Yogscast, a nobly born girl to the Owls family in London. Partner in the company is Honeydew Bacon, from Khaz Modan in Scotland. Xephos has three grown sons who work in the company. They run a small branch they called Hat Films that specializes in some deed forgery, but mostly stone importing.”  
Rythian whistled appreciatively. “He has got quite the history. Was a reason given for the job?”  
Lalna shrugged. “He’s probably too powerful. Then again, we’re not paid to speculate on the motive, we’re just here to do the deed.”  
“Obstacles?”  
“Guards, mostly,” Lalna said. “He’s got a few tricks wired up, too, so we need to disable those. And, of course, there’s the fact that he’ll be in the middle of a public meeting.”  
“Yeah, tricky. But, for the traps - disable?” Rythian’s eyebrows shot up. “What about avoiding them entirely?”  
Lalna waved his suggestion off. “Too tricky. We might bump into them when we’re running.”  
“Running? Why would we need to run? They won’t see us.”  
Lalna laughed as if Rythian were a child with a useless idea. “I’m called Goggles for a reason, Rythian. Everyone knows what I look like. I don’t hide. I go big or I die.”  
Rythian snorted dismissively. “And I’m Shadow for a reason. I’m never seen, Goggles. I want to keep it that way.”  
“Exactly!” Lalna grinned. “No one knows what you look like. You attend the meeting, and I can sneak in unseen. Then, at the last moment, I drop in and make him run, and you kill him brutally before he reaches the door.”  
Rythian sighed patiently. “Too unpredictable. It would be easier for one of us to incapacitate the guards and the other to use throwing knives, or a small crossbow through a window.”  
“Oh.” Lalna deflated. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” The disappointment in his voice made Rythian’s stomach twist with guilt.  
Ignoring the feeling, Rythian plowed on. “You get the guards and I’ll kill him. We both know I’m better at ranged targeting.”  
“You are not,” Lalna protested. “I’ve been playing a lot of darts lately. Even Nano can’t beat me.”  
“Sounds uses her duel swords, Goggles. She’s not that good. And besides, darts?”  
Defeated, the blonde let out a sigh. “Fine, you can kill him,” he mumbled bitterly. “But I wanna watch.”  
“You’ll do no such thing, maniac,” Rythian said sharply. “And you’re not to kill the guards either, right?”  
“Yes, Shadow.” Lalna’s tone had gone flat, his expression dejected as he glumly accepted Rythian’s plans.  
“Don’t be so downbeat,” Rythian said as he rose from the chair, in a last ditch attempt to hold back the guilt he felt.  
Lalna forced a smile, getting up. “It’s nothing,” he said, too lightly. “I knew you’d be subtle about it.”  
“We can discuss further next time,” Rythian murmured quietly. “I’ll get my hands on a schedule of the guard shifts. I want you to have floor plans for the building and as many surrounding obstacles as you can, all in a week. You can manage?”  
“I can always manage,” Lalna muttered. “With or without you.”  
Biting back a sour retort he knew would only make things worse, Rythian turned and strode from the room, ignoring Nano when she tried to talk to him. He flew down the stairs, pretending he didn’t notice her hand on his arm, or her anxious words.  
She grabbed his wrist when he flung open the front door angrily. He glared at her, a silent standoff in the split second before he sighed.  
Rythian let the door close, turning to look at her reproachingly. “Well?” He asked softly.  
“He may seem like a prat, but he’s not that bad,” Nano said hurriedly. “Give him a chance.”  
“I gave him a chance, Sounds,” Rythian said hollowly. “He failed.”  
“You haven’t seen him the way I have,” she murmured. “You didn’t see him after they found your body.”  
He sighed. Opening his mouth, he expected his famed sharp tongue to come up with a remark, but he had nothing. Finally he spat, “No, I haven’t,” and wheeled around, pushing her aside as he strode from the house into the public street.  
Not even pausing to check for watchers, he tugged his scarf higher and almost immediately turned off the road. He ducked between two houses, melting into the shadows before anyone saw him.  
Rythian returned to the Crooked Caber, not even pausing to speak to Ravs as he made for his apartment. To hell with disguise and elusiveness. He was done. Goggles would most likely kill them both on this job. Maybe the army could do it better.  
“Don’t think like that, Rythian,” a cool voice said, as Rythian reached the corridor his room was on.  
Not even raising an eyebrow, he turned to face the figure whose face was hidden in darkness.  
“King, you know you have need of me. You know Goggles will be my ending. What are you doing?”  
The King laughed. It was not warm laughter; it was harsh and mocking, as his always was.  
“You’ll be your own ending if I don’t save you, Rythian. Lalna will either speed your death or stop it. It’s all up to you.”  
Rythian opened his mouth to correct the King, to remind him that he was to be called Shadow, but he forced his lips closed just as quickly. The King had always called his pets by name - much like Goggles. Where had the formalities gone?  
The King laughed. “Oh, Rythian, you’re so straightforward. Really, now.”  
A swish of heavy cloth told Rythian that he had departed. From somewhere down the hall, the King’s voice called, “I call you that in fear, Shadow!”  
 _Fear._ The King’s choice word rang in Rythian’s head. The King was scared… of him?  
But why did he use his name in fear? And then Rythian remembered a phrase the King was fond of using. He’d had it embroidered on the inside of his coat cuff, or so the rumor went. The phrase was ‘Nomina sunt potentia.’ Names are power.  
Rythian allowed himself a small smile in appreciation of the King, but it was gone as quickly as it surfaced. He briskly turned off the hallway and vanished into his apartment, almost wishing that he was brave enough to live above ground, in a home he owned legally, not living off of the King’s generosity.  
Then again, everyone lived off the King’s generosity in the underworld. In fact, if he wasn’t feeling generous, you died. Those were the rules, and had been the rules since the mysterious King had come to power.  
Now, how was he to get ahold of a schedule? He had agreed, after all; the least he could do was stick to his part of the bargain.  
In fact, he knew exactly the man to go to for those kinds of information. It was a man not even the King dared mess with, a man the underworld feared above anyone else. He was aligned with the power of a god, and rumors said he was graced with the burden of living death.  
All Rythian knew was that he was the greatest magician in or under the world, and that he called himself Kirin.  
Kirin lived in isolation. His location wasn’t a secret; far from it. He had made a great show, with lightning and fire, when he built his house in one night. It was a beautiful building, made from a pinkish cherry wood and mossy stone pathways, tucked away in the crook of a riverbend.  
The king - the royal one, that is - had demanded that he be executed immediately. Of course, the order had proved impossible, and the king had raged and then promptly forgotten the sage. Rythian had heard of Kirin, as the mage had wandered long and far in search of a place to call home.  
It seemed he had found it, as Rythian crossed the bridge over the river and ran into the invisible wall that seperated Kirin from the world that wanted his blood.  
Rythian called out softly, “Kirin? Storm Sage of the Kirin, I have a formal request to make in my own favor.”  
He walked forward boldly, almost expecting to walk into the wall he couldn’t see. To his relief, he could feel the breeze coming from the gap in the side of the barrier, and he slipped through, into the peaceful paradise that was the storm sage’s home.  
“Lay down your weapons, assassin,” Kirin’s voice spat from the air, bristling with hostility as he viewed his visitor.   
He had announced, when he settled there, that he would help anyone who asked for his assistance the right way. The King was the only one who knew that way, and Kirin knew he had shared the key phrase. But he was bound by his word to help any who came to him and asked for guidance - or, at the very least, he was bound to listen to them.  
Rythian unstrapped the sword at his hip throwing it to the ground, sheath and all. He pulled off his cloak, removing the crossbow hidden on his back, and threw that down, too. A knife from his boot briskly followed, and then he put his cloak back on and stood viewing the air around him.  
“Everything, assassin,” Kirin said again. “All of it.”  
Reluctantly, Rythian removed the small dagger strapped to his forearm, tugging his cloak off along with it. Feeling as though he was removing all his clothes, not his weapons, he removed the posion ring and added it to the pile of weapons.  
Stripped of all his protection, Rythian stood proudly under what he knew was Kirin’s steely gaze. His dignity and his clothes were all he had left - though Kirin may well have demanded he strip for how clothed he felt. The metal against his skin had become a part of him, hidden blades just an extension of his hands. The storm sage was cruel, cruel beyong belief. He knew exactly how it felt to be powerless and bare before a threat, and he was by far the greatest threat Rythian knew.  
“Thank you,” Kirin said, much more kindly now. “If you cross the bridge and follow the path, Su will greet you at the door.”  
Before Rythian could ask who Su was, he felt the eyes watching him disappear. A long, exasperated sigh slipped past his lips as he let himself relax. A tempting glance at his weapons was almost too much, but he turned away unarmed, and crossed the bridge as he’d been told.  
With a kindly smile, a woman he could only assume was Su greeted him at the thin wooden door. She silently motioned for him to go inside before vanishing in a swirl of golden runes.  
Beyond the door, a man with very furry sideburns, curly ram’s horns, and blue antlers levelly met his gaze from the chair on the other side of a birch table. A third eye was closed on his forehead, and hair-thin cracks that were a bright white-blue ran over his hands. He smiled wearily at the assassin, as if he had done this far too many times before.  
“What do you need?” He asked softly, his voice much quieter and calmer than when it had first demanded the assassin unarm himself.  
“Knowledge of the future,” Rythian answered without missing a beat. “Or, possibly just a timetable.”  
“Sit,” Kirin said, as though he hadn’t heard the response. He gestured towards the chair across from him.  
Rythian sat, feeling self-conscious, and faced Kirin evenly. The storm sage appeared to not notice his gaze, focusing his attention instead on the tea set out between them. He poured two cups of tea, setting one down in front of the assassin with a polite nod.  
“Never let it be said I’m not a gracious god,” Kirin said with a private smile.  
“God?” Oddly enough, the thought of poison hadn’t occurred to Rythian by the time he’d picked up the teacup and taken a sip from the dainty china.  
“It’s an old inside joke. A childhood friend and I used to fight over who was the most godly,” Kirin told him as he picked his cup up, curling his hands around it without drinking any. “That’s what led me to learn magic, a dying art feared by all. It went well in the end, though.” Kirin gestured towards the door that led deeper into the house. “I met Su on my travels. She’s always wanted to settle down and raise a family, but this life was the best I could do.”  
He took a long drink, viewing Rythian critically when he set his teacup back down. The assassin felt all the words he meant to say practically pulled from his mind, gone before he could speak the thoughts whirling through his head. Kirin smiled, a cross between condescending and understanding.  
“The tea?” Rythian asked weakly, trying to at least say one thing before it was blanked out.  
Kirin laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with the tea,” he said. “You wanted me to help you, so your thoughts matched my affinity so I’d understand. Completely subconscious,” he added as soon as the thought of protest appeared in Rythian’s head.  
“Your affinity?” Rythian said, thankful when the mental drain was plugged again.  
“Yes, my speciality. You have an affinity, too - odd for someone who doesn’t practice magic.”  
In an instant, Rythin realized that Kirin was trying to distract him. He snapped, “Can you help me, Storm Sage of the Kirin?”  
Kirin laughed. “Certainly, assassin.” His expression went blank and his eyes focused on someting that he saw through the walls and the air.  
The third eye on his forehead opened, impossibly blue in color. It was a more vibrant color than his two other eyes were, and it glowed as Kirin looked on blankly.  
“Yes, you’d want the future,” he said vacantly. Blinking rapidly as the third eye quickly shut again, he focused once more on Rythian. “Assassins.”  
“I should hope so,” Rythian said wryly, trying to bite back an angry retort. “We’re planning to go on a job.”  
“Ah, Ridge sent you out,” Kirin said, as though that explained everything. “So, let’s see. The guards switch at eight o’clock every night. Four o’clock as well, and twice in the morning. The day you’re going, the guard on the west side is upset about his youngest son. He caught some disease - don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” he added, as though Rythian would have become concerned. “The guard falls asleep at roughly half past eight. He wouldn’t notice you slipping past by about nine. The meeting finishes at exactly ten twenty-three, so you have roughly an hour and twenty-three minutes of chance.”  
Rythian looked at him sharply. “You could make some serious money in the underworld. The King would welcome someone with your talents.”  
Kirin’s row furrowed slightly. “The King? Oh, that’s what Ridge calls himself, no? Concieted bastard.” He laughed quietly, but not cruelly.  
“And he’d have your head for that,” Rythian said softly, not sure what else to say around someone who laughed at the King.  
“He’d certainly try,” Kirin agreed leisurely as he got to his feet. “Fare thee well, assassin. And, as for that man who you always don’t see by your side - tell him to be careful, will you?”  
Rythian nodded, rising to his feet. “Fare thee well, storm sage,” he echoed thoughtfully.  
Kirin’s words swirling in his head, he made for the door, trying not to bump into the walls. He was in shock, more from the storm sage’s goodbye than his actual information.  
What the hell did that mean - ‘the man who you always don’t see by your side’? Rythia glanced to his left, staring at the ground as he tried to think of who he was used to seeing there.  
And then he remembered. He remembered the long days after his escape from London, the days after his drowning in the Thames. He would turn to his left, a complaint on his tongue, or an idle thought in his head, and then he would close his mouth and turn away, conscious of the missing presence beside him. Rythian had traveled for months with a ghost at his side, the man he always noticed wasn’t there.  
An echo of a laugh, a toss of blond hair. A shrill cheer rang in Rythian’s head as he remembered a night atop Big Ben, a night at the top of the world.  
He abruptly forced the memory from his mind, silently cursing Kirin for bringing up the images. That’s most likely what he’d intended, Rythian thought broodily as he returned to the heap of glinting arms at the edge of the boundary.   
Hidden blades were returned to their old places, metal comfortingly cold against the smooth skin accustomed to its touch. Rythian threw his cloak back on, feeling the wall part around him as he strode away from the protected bubble.  
He made his way back to the Crooked Caber, and through that into his apartment. Sleep was difficult to find, but he knew that he would need all his energy if he was to get himself and Lalna through next week’s job.  
Just himself, he corrected the thought. He could care less about that stupid blond with his stupid flashy style and loud mouth.  
Rythian took it upon himself to decide that a week was too long between plannings. It was two days later, at three in the morning, when he found himself on the streets again.  
He knew the route over the rooftops all too well, but it was soothing to use the cobbled roads from time to time. Even London’s chilly, abandoned pathways became welcoming to an assassin used to the shadows, even an assassin that had decided to go shortly after waking up.  
A high, sweet voice rose above Rythian’s thoughts as he hunched into his coat. It was Sounds’ song, her death song.  
His breath in the brisk night air paused for a moment as he listened to the words coming from up the street.  
 _"I will not hide myself from the tears that you have shed,"_ Nano sang. _“‘Cause I am a lion, and you are dead.”_  
Rythian felt his heart stop, for a split second, for ony a moment. He flew forward faster than he’d ever gone before, faster than when he had the entire royal army on his heels.  
His heart in his mouth, Rythian drew closer to the open second-story window where he could see a glint of steel and hear the music. A shriek filled the air, cutting across the sweet song and shattering any hope Rythian had left.  
 _"I am a lion, and I want to be free,"_ Nano’s song went. _"Do you see a lion when you look inside of me?"_  
“Sounds!” Rythian’s roar bounced off the walls, echoing down the street before he could stop himself.  
A mischevious giggle drifted through the window as Sounds’ face appeared. “Hello, Shadow!” She called cheerily. “The two of us just have the best timing, no?”  
The glint in her eyes warned Rythian to run, and run, and never stop running. This was Sounds, not Nano. This was the killer Rythian feared, the assassin that showed herself only when Nano drew blood. This was the singer of a song that put herself above her enemy in his final moments.  
“The King finds the best jobs, does he not?” Sounds called down to him. “Gave me this one for a lot. I knew it would be easy. He never expected it.”  
“Rythian?” Lalna’s panicked voice called from the window. “It’s Nano, Rythian, I don’t know what she’s doing!”  
“Well, clearly it’s because you believed in her,” Rythian muttered even as he used a spare key from God knows how long ago to make his way into the house.  
Sounds was standing at the top of the staircase, her swords out at her sides. Her grip was loose, but could be tightened into her personalized battle stance in a moment. The faintest grin pulled at her lips, making her cold, solemn eyes clash dauntingly with the sweet smile.  
“Two playthings,” Sounds said. “My, the King was good to me.”  
“And would Kirin approve of this song, Sounds?”  
That stopped her, the smile fading instantly. Only Rythian and the King knew that Kirin had trained Sounds, had trained her to give the utmost respect to her targets. That’s when she’d gotten the notion to sing to them. Her voice was beautiful and deadly, and every victim received song - her token to their lives as they bled beneath her.  
“Don’t bring that old goat into this!” She snarled, her expression hardening as memories of her tutor arose in her mind.  
“He’d be so ashamed,” Rythian remarked, feigning disinterest as he viewed one of the ancient paintings on Lalna’s wall.  
“He’s nothing to me,” Sounds hissed. “Nothing, you hear? He left me for dead long ago!”  
“After he cured you of your curse, and gave you talents to make up for the year you’d lost in his home. I saw him a few days ago,” Rythian added. “He was so tired, Nano, as though he wanted to be left alone.”  
“Then you should’ve left him alone.” Sounds’ grip on her swords tightened ever so slightly, her voice icy as her old protective instinct surfaced.  
Focusing his gaze solely on Nano’s face, Rythian forced a jaunty grin onto his face. “Make me,” he said as he turned on his heel, dashing out of the open door.  
Her anger provoked, Nano barely had a choice before she followed him. Her song was swiftly forgotten, along with Lalna.  
Rythian clambered up the wall, onto the nearest roof. He felt adrenaline surging through him as Sounds followed him, her swords flashing in the dim moonlight.  
“Where are you, Shadow?” Her voice rang through the night, loud as could be.  
Rythian shrugged out of his cloak, dropping it over the edge of the tiles and ducking behind a chimney. Sounds heard the noise of billowing cloth, her head turning in time to see the tail of his cloak vanish from view.  
She took a flying leap off of the roof before she could notice her error. Rythian darted from his hiding place, silently climbing down and melting into the shadows of the buildings.  
Sounds’ angry roar was music to his ears. He made his way slowly back towards Lalna’s home, conscious of the absence of his concealing cloak.  
He found Lalna in his sitting room, two bottles and a knife on the table in front of him. He stared blankly at the wall, and Rythian noted silently that one of the bottles had been opened.  
“Beer? Really?” Rythian sighed as he picked up the nearest unopened bottle. “You’ve never had any class, Lalna.”  
“Mmm.” Lalna grunted noncommittally, forcing himself to look away from the wall and focus on Rythian.  
“And a knife,” the assassin added as he settled on the sofa beside the blonde. “Not even a sword, eh?”  
Lalna didn’t respond as Rythian scooped up the knife, prying the top off his bottle with the blade. The brunet spared a glance at the initials carved into the hilt before carefully placing it back on the table.  
“What, you don’t want it back?” Lalna finally shook off his trance, looking at the assassin curiously. “It’s the knife they took off your corpse in the Thames.”  
“Yeah, never was quite sure how that happened,” Rythian agreed as he took a long drink from the bottle. “The King told me Kirin was repaying a favor.”  
Lalna shrugged. “Who knows, with that man.”  
“Which one?” Rythian chuckled. “They’re both impossible.”  
“Yeah, they are,” Lalna murmured amiably, tilting dangerously to lean against the brunette’s side.  
“Don’t tell me you’re already drunk,” Rythian chided him playfully.  
“Shuddup,” Lalna growled softly. “I’m traumatized by the unexpected shock of being betrayed by an assassin.”  
With a sigh that said he knew everything Rythian was about to say, the blonde slumped heavily against Rythian and fell asleep.  
Rythian stared at him. He wasn’t surprised that he’d fallen asleep; that was Lalna, through and through. He was surprised by how warm the blond seemed against him, making him feel lethargic even as he turned the thought over in his head.  
“God dammit Lalna,” he muttered affectionately.  
The expense of the adrenaline boost caught up with him then, and he snuggled unconsciously into Lalna’s side. His breathing slowed until it matched the blond’s, and Rythian was asleep.  
They woke up in the same instant, identical panicked looks on their faces. Their eyes met, and Rythian abruptly shoved Lalna off the couch.  
The thud he made brought a cheery Nano to the doorway, grinning widely at them.  
“Morning, lazies,” she greeted them as though last night hadn’t happened.  
She turned away, humming a soft tune. The look the blonde gave Rythian was utterly bewildered, asking for an explanation.  
“We’re assassins,” Rythian reminded him gently, unsure of any other way to put it without giving away his own surprise. “We move on.”  
Lalna heaved himself off the floor, glancing at the two half-drunken bottles on the table. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I guess we are, and we do.”  
Rythian couldn’t help but smile a the lost tone in Lalna’s voice, and the subtle shock still hidden in his eyes. “And,” he added, to distract them both, “it smells like Nano’s made us breakfast.”  
Lalna obediently followed him into the kitchen, blinking in the sunlight through the windows. He, too, could smell Nano cooking something or other. He hurried after Rythian, practically struggling to match the assassin’s pace.  
“So, who hired you?” Rythian said conversationally as he sank onto a chair, graceful as ever.  
“Oh, it was just a job from the King,” Nano said vaugely, waving a wooden spoon in the air with a slight smile. “You know the sort.”  
“You seem pretty lax about not getting it done,” Lalna butted in, flopping carelessly into the chair next to Rythian.  
Nano shrugged. “If anything, I’m more annoyed that you, mister supposed-to-be-dead, heard that song.”  
“I don’t remember what it was, now that you mention it.” Lalna’s brow furrowed as he tried to recall the words. “It had a pretty tune, and some dark words.”  
Rythian grinned. “I remember it, but I’m not allowed to tell you. Nano has to wait until you die.”  
“I’ll remember the words, don’t worry,” Nano said with a jaunty grin. “I spent ages working on your songs, both of you.”  
“Really?” Rythian’s grin matched hers. “Much as I’d love to hear it, I can’t say I ever want to.”  
“I’ve already sung you one song, idiot,” Nano snapped, then hurried on to assure him as though she were soothing him, “but I’ve got another, so don’t worry.”  
Lalna laughed outright. “Are you threatening the Shadow, Sounds?”  
Her laughing gaze turned cold when she looked at him. “Would you intervene if I was?”  
Before he could respond, she added slyly, “And you two were adorable when you woke up - but I’m just grateful you had clothes on.”  
Rythian’s eyes widened briefly in shock as his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Lalna only smiled sinisterly, and told her, “I wish it were otherwise.”  
Embarrassed beyond belief, Rythian rose from his chair with as much dignity as he could muster and fled from the kitchen, trying not to hear their laughter.  
When he’d escaped the noise and the thoughts that Lalna’s words had brought to mind, his own resurfaced. _We’re assassins,_ he’d said. _We move on._  
And, he realized, moving on was what Lalna found impossible. Two years, two years between Rythian drowning in the Thames and returning, and Lalna hadn’t forgotten. He’d remembered the night they’d spent together - probably remembered the words Rythian had said then, too. The assassin turned pink as the memories surfaced. Hastily, he shoved them aside, focusing only on the now.  
Rythian thought himself into Lalna’s place. The blonde had been found lying facedown, dead, in the Thames early yesterday morning. The King had sent condolences, and Nano, a replacement for his dead partner. He thought of two years passing, two years without a word, when one of Lalna’s long, thin knives turned up wedged in his door, the blonde’s intitals freshly carved into the hilt in his handwriting - the way they used to leave messages for each other.  
And when he heard the King say Lalna had been back for a year, he felt so utterly betrayed that the guilt he felt pulled him from his imaginary world.  
His feet turned, almost dragging him back in the direction of Lalna’s home, but he forced himself to walk away. He could not apologize, would not apologize. It was time the blonde learned to forget rather than forgive. That was a skill most assassins had from initiation, but some needed a close eye kept on them.  
“I’m sorry,” he said to the air in front of him, and then kept walking.  
He would tell Lalna of the plans in a few days, like they’d agreed. Give him some time to get over last night, he told himself.  
Not because he couldn’t face him right now. Not at all. Rythian could face anyone, anytime. But he just didn’t want to.   
Next week, he told himself. Next week.  
And when next week was up and Rythian returned to London’s streets, he reverently wished that he had another week. He dreaded what he’d find at Lalna’s - a domestic dispute, a dead body, a physical fight - with those two, it could be anything.  
He turned onto the street, half-expecting to hear raised voices. The street was silent, even Lalna’s. Trying not to think of all the possible reasons it could be quiet, Rythian’s pace quickened imperceptibly.  
The household was normal as usual; Nano greeted him by yelling across two rooms, and Lalna appeared at the top of the stairs.  
“I could swear she lives with you,” Rythian muttered as he made his way up the stairs and towards the blonde.  
“She does,” Lalna said with a grin, gesturing for him to follow into the study. “She’s got her own room on the other side of the house.”  
Rythian couldn’t help a small chuckle. “As if you two hated each other.”  
“We haven’t mentioned her job. Turns out she got hired by a Sjin, brother of Xephos.”  
“Xephos Yogscast?” Rythian raised his eyebrows. “That Xephos?”  
“Yep. Soon as the King told her, Nano threw a fit. The King had sent a messenger for Kirin in case he couldn’t calm her down. The threat was enough,” Lalna told him with a crooked grin.  
Rythian laughed outright. “Just like her.”  
“But, back to that Yogscast family. That’s why you’re here, right?”  
“Oh, right.” Rythian pushed open the door and led the way into the dimly lit study. “I’ve got a timetable from a reliable source.”  
“How reliable?” Lalna pressed as they sat down across from each other.  
“Storm Sage of the Kirins reliable.”  
A low whistle punctuated his answer as Lalna gave him an approving look. “Since when has the King held you in such high regards?”  
Rythian laughed in spite of himself. “Since I survived drowning, Goggles. Try dying sometime. If you come back, people’ll call you a wizard.”  
Lalna snorted. “Wizard. As if.”  
“Maybe someday, Lalna,” Rythian said with a knowing smile. “We could arrange something.”  
“In your dreams, mage,” Lalna responded, quirking one eyebrow teasingly.  
“Anyway.” Rythian cleared his throat, hurrying back to the topic before things got out of his control. “The shifts are at four and eight every evening. The guard on the west side has a sick son, and he’ll fall asleep soon after his shift starts. By nine o’clock he’s out like a light, and the meeting finishes about ten twenty-three.”  
Lalna laughed as he finished speaking. “Trust you to have the perfect results.”  
Rythian grinned slyly. Lalna laughed again at his expression, and then produced a floor plan from a drawer in his desk. They fell to planning - arguing occasionally, but never really fighting.  
Time ticked by in Lalna’s study, until Rythian glanced out the window and noticed the moonlight, stronger than ever. He checked his watch, surprised to find it was already three.  
“I had best go,” he announced to Lalna, getting up stiffly. Somewhere they’d gotten sidetracked, and their conversation had continued long after they’d made their plans.  
Lalna looked at the clock then too, realizing suddenly what the time was. He apologized for keeping Rythian so long, rising to open the door for his guest.  
Rythian returned his smile as they walked to the front door in silence.  
“Hey, Rythian,” Lalna finally said as soon as Rythian’s feet touched the cool cobbled stones of the road, “care to stay for the night? The job’s the day after tomorrow; you’re welcome to sleep here if you want.”  
Rythian’s mouth moved before he could stop it. “Thanks,” he found himself saying, “but I needed to go home anyway, I’m not in my work clothes.”  
“Oh.” Lalna’s voice had gotten softer, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, right. See you soon, then.”  
Rythian felt himself flush with guilt, but he turned away, stubbornly ignoring the feeling. He was almost around the corner when he looked back, and saw Lalna standing in the doorway, silohuetted by the dim lantern inside.  
“I’ll stay tomorrow!” Rythian called, then turned and ducked around the corner - but not before he saw Lalna’s face light up.  
 _Stupid, stupid, stupid,_ he chanted to himself as he hurried down the street, avoiding the street lamps so no one would be able to see the blush staining his cheeks. _Stupid to turn him down. Stupid to try and make amends. Stupid Rythian. Stupid Shadow._  
And then he blushed even more darkly, knowing exactly what Lalna’s response would be if he’d heard that monolog.  
Rythian broke into a run past the drunk men tottering out into the street as Ravs closed his bar, a little after three like he always did. Rythian was well-accustomed to the curfew; if he wasn’t in by then, he had to find another entrance, and the nearest one was at least five minutes’ walk above ground, and another five below.  
The next evening, Rythian changed from his citizens’ costume and threw on his usual work clothes: a black mask, black shirt, pants, and his extra poison blade hidden in his work belt. Concealed by his cloak and his clothes, the various tools of his trade were hung about his person in dizzying numbers. Slung over all of this was a navy blue cloak with a black scarf that Lalna had given to him a long time ago.  
He knew Lalna was expecting him to come with the minimum tools necessary, and knew that he should be expecting Lalna to bring every blade to hand. He felt they’d made amends last night, and even today’s varied collection was nothing compared to Lalna’s hoard.  
He ignored Ravs’ invitation for an evening pint and, and a summons from an old red-haired friend of his; she was busy with a brunette girl, or that’s how Rythian saw it when he glanced at her. Ravs’ customers were always something else, no matter who it was.  
Rythian scaled his way up the building opposite the bar, forgetting for a moment his guise. He swore softly to himself, grinning, and finished his route to the roof with reckless ease.  
When he turned back, a man stared at him from the doorway of the bar, but he was the only one who noticed.  
With a wink to his audience of one, Rythian leapt to the ground on the other side of the building. He landed neatly, readjusting his cloak as it settled around him. His landing had attracted a few stares - more than he’d lost.  
Rythian pulled his hood lower to hide his grin. God damn it, he refused to let Lalna’s style affect him.  
He entered Lalna’s house like he’d always used to; barging in, interrupting him, yelling “Hello!” from the doorway. Laughter greeted him, and he joined in when Nano walked in, staring at them in surprise.  
“You two are something else,” she grumbled, dismissing it with a wave of her hand.  
“Yes,” Rythian said warmly, “we are.”  
His expression was no longer tense in the blond’s presence, and the smile seemed unable to fade from his eyes. This was how he remembered the household: inviting, laughing, but unmistakably deadly.  
The last point was proved true when Lalna simply looked at him and listed off most of what Rythian was carrying.  
“There’s your sword, a knife in your left boot, a flat dagger in your right sleeve, and a crossbow under your cloak,” he said, grinning as he saw that Rythian remembered this game. “I’m guessing the ring you’re wearing has poison inside, possibly sedative. And, judging by how wide your belt is, a dagger inside it.”  
“Close,” Rythian agreed with his warm, serene smile. “You missed the spare bolts on my upper arms, and my long knife.”  
“Damn,” Lalna said ruefully. “I always miss the crossbow bolts.”  
Rythian laughed at the blond’s pout. They made their way upstairs, Rythian scanning Lalna as they walked.  
“You’ve got a flintlock and around fifteen bullets, I’d say. A flat dagger on the back of your right leg, and a spring blade on your left wrist,” Rythian listed. “One sword, a falchion. And…” He laughed. “Really? Darts?”  
Lalna sighed. “I’ll never beat you,” he said mournfully. “Wish I could though. I mean” - and here his expression was mischevious - “you can more or less undress someone with your eyes, no?”  
“Lalna!” Nano’s shocked voice floated up from downstairs as Lalna pushed the door to the lounge open with a wink. “Get down here, you son-of-a-bitch!”  
Lalna shoved a laughing Rythian through the door and followed him quickly.  
“Any reason we’re here and not the study?” Rythian managed to ask as Lalna quickly slammed the door behind them.  
Lalna grinned broadly. “My study doesn’t lock,” he said, and Rythian heard the metal click as he locked them in.  
Nano screamed then, and the two of them were forced to sit down because breathing was becoming increasingly difficult the longer they laughed.  
Nano eventually gave in and left them in peace, to discuss what they’d missed.  
“Oh, I know!” Lalna said suddenly, after he’d heard what Rythian had been doing for the past two years. “Tell me about your visit to Kirin!”  
Rythian groaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair with his hands over his face. “That man is a headache,” he mumbled through his fingers.  
“Really?” Lalna’s face lit up with curiosity. “What’d he tell you?”  
“What I asked for,” Rythian said, letting his hands fall into his lap.  
Lalna grinned. “Anything else? A cryptic message? A warning?”  
Rythian laughed. “He offered me tea, for God’s sake. Not exactly the cryptic type.”  
He remembered Kirin’s parting statement clearly, of course. _And, as for that man who you always don’t see by your side - tell him to be careful, will you?_ He’d said.  
“He did give me a warning, though.”  
“He did?” Lalna’s grin pulled him from his somber thoughts.  
“He wanted me to warn you be careful.”  
Lalna snorted. “Is that it?”  
The rest of the message lingered on Rythian’s lips, but he only nodded. “So you should listen.”  
The blond laughed, leaning in close to Rythian’s face. “Since when don’t I?” He asked softly, lifting his eyebrows to overexaggerate the statement.  
Rythian felt Lalna’s soft voice tug gently at his heart, and he swallowed to suppress old memories and old feelings. His gaze slipped from the green eyes, looking anywhere but at him.  
Lalna’s grin widened, his eyes flashing mercilessly as he slid closer to Rythian, knowing exactly the effect he’d had with just those few words.  
“Do you still want me to be careful?” He asked softly, not bothering to hide the teasing tone or the knowing smirk. “Because I’m about to play a very dangerous game.”  
Rythian forced purple to meet green, forced himself to go cold and hard like he’d been before he’d met the blond. “He told you to be careful,” he said, his tone as flat as it would go with his stomach still in knots.  
Lalna pressed his entire body against Rythian’s lithe shape, his warm contact irresistable to the brunet. “Come on,” he crooned gently. “I’ve missed you for two years, don’t be cold now.”  
Rythian couldn’t help it as he found his head twisted to the side, a warm hand guiding it down, towards Lalna’s waiting lips. They kissed slowly, with the patience both had held over two long, lonely years.  
Remembering himself, the Shadow pulled away sharply, feeling his cheeks burn as he realized how open he’d left himself. Lalna nuzzled into his shoulder, his hunger abated by the long-awaited satisfaction Rythian knew had curled up inside him. He felt the same satisfaction, the same completetion he’d been missing by his side.  
“Now that wasn’t very careful,” he mumbled into Lalna’s mussed blond hair, the faintest smile in his voice.  
“I should hope not,” responded the blond in a murmur. “I hate being careful.”  
They both knew why it hadn’t been careful, of course. It would’ve been easier to let those feelings die; emotions, in an assassin, were only endangering. Rythian knew now, with Lalna by his side, that he would give up everything to save his partner.  
The Shadow’s thoughts briefly flashed to Nano, downstairs with no clue of what had occured. He suddenly felt guilty, knowing the King had sent Nano to replace him in every way - including Lalna’s feelings. He had no idea what had passed between the two for them to be so close.  
When the blond was asleep on his shoulder, he finally deemed it safe to move. He eased his way out of encasing arms, laying his limp form down gently on the sofa. With silent steps he made his way down the stairs, to where Nano hummed from the parlor, the tune broken only by the occasional _thud_ of a dart.  
He opened the door knowing all his guilt must show upon his face. Without a word, he sank onto the armchair behind her, ran his hands through his hair, and wondered where to start.  
He didn’t have to. “He kissed you,” Nano said simply, voice void of emotion.  
“Yes,” Rythian said softly. “He did.”  
“And you didn’t pull away, like you thought you would.”  
“No,” Rythian said, but he wasn’t sure which statement he was answering. “I didn’t.”  
She laughed lightly, with only the slightest undertone of disappointment. “He always made it clear I was a replacement, from the first day I came here.” She threw a dart, hitting very near the center. “I knew you would be back. Most of us did. We didn’t believe the Shadow could be killed that easily.”  
Rythian opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off again, as though she had to say everything before he could ask.  
“I knew I would fall in love with him,” she said softly. “I knew it, and I stayed. I could’ve told the King to give him someone else. I could’ve refused to come back. He just seemed so - so _lost_ , without you. I had to help him. I gave him whatever he wanted, whatever he asked for, but I knew you would be back, so I made sure he never loved me.”  
“Thank you.” Rythian spoke before she could. “I’m sorry.”  
She laughed. “He knew - knows - I love him. He told me not to. He told me to leave, and to vanish, that he’d be okay until you returned, if you ever did.” Here her voice dropped, and another dart was thrown. “He told me he was scared of loving me. Scared of not loving you when you got back.”  
Nano turned to him with a forcedly bright smile. “I’m glad he’s happy,” she said determinedly. “I really am. And I know he doesn’t need me anymore, but I want to stay at his side.”  
“Of course,” Rythian said quietly. “It’s the least I can do, after you looked after him for two years.”  
He got to his feet and left, and as he closed the door, a whispered song came from Nano. It was sweet, and he knew it was the first line of his death song. He knew that she had spirit left; he knew she would stay.  
So he laughed, and she laughed with him, and he knew they were not enemies.  
The following morning, dawn broke through the curtains of Rythian’s room - he’d had to turn down an invitation to join Lalna for the night, and he’d locked his door to ensure he could sleep alone.  
Rythian, who was used to sleeping late, was grumpy by the time he joined Lalna down in the kitchen to eat. He arrived with only a knife, because his clumsy fingers had been too sleep-heavy to attach his scabbard to his belt.  
The tense atmosphere in the kitchen woke him up quickly as Lalna’s eager anticipation of the event ahead caught on.  
“Eat light, Rythian,” he cautioned when the mage first appeared.  
“Same to you, Goggles,” the assassin murmured blurrily, rubbing at his eyes. “I woke up too early.”  
Lalna laughed. “Can’t have you sleeping in. We need to get into our positions early this evening, and we need to go over the plans before that.”  
Rythian groaned as he remembered the schedule he’d set up for them three days ago, now deeply regretting his decision. A job shared between them required more coordination than a job on their own, or between two other partners; their styles clashed horribly if they didn’t have plans set in concrete.  
Set in concrete indeed. He laughed as he remembered their last job together. That one had been ridiculous. Their brilliant talents, used for petty grudge theft. Well, it had paid well, even if the recipient had been the one to drown him in the Thames.  
In the silence of the kitchen, his mind was free to return to that awful night. It was only the night after he’d stolen a pretty necklace, for the aforementioned grudge.  
He remembered the rage he’d seen burning in the man’s eyes, hadn’t realized how long that grudge had been carried. He had felt pure fear, fear like never before, when he felt strong, certain hands wrap around his throat. As soon as the fingers had encircled his neck, he’d given up, knowing struggling would only bring death closer. It was too late to yell, too late to call to Lalna for help.   
He was alone.  
He remembered flailing helplessly when the hands tightened, his training dissolving as his life ebbed away. Almost dead, he weakly felt ropes pulled tight around his wrists, cutting into his skin as strong arms picked him up.  
And then there was the cold of the river. His lungs screamed for mercy in a body that was too winded to respond. He didn’t cry out now, didn’t struggle; darkness was so close, pressing in at his mind. It offered freedom from the pain, all that he wanted then.  
As the darkness comforted him, he remembered a high voice. Sounds had been the first to find his body, only minutes after death. It was her who was singing, to announce his death to the city, to the underworld.  
 _"You’ve got it all, you lost your mind in the sound. There’s so much more, you can reclaim your crown."_ Her words drifted over the river, over the dead man lying there, just barely listening to his own song. _"You’re in control, rid of the monsters inside your head; put all your thoughts to bed."_  
The song pulled at his heart, and he would’ve cried if he was able. It was as though Sounds knew he was alive, still struggling even when anyone else would’ve died far earlier. He heard, in her words, a goodbye and an assurance. _It’s okay,_ Sounds was saying in his delusional mind. _You were a king, but we’ll survive without you._  
Heartless as it may sound, it lulled Rythian. He let himself sink into the darkness.  
“Rythian!” Lalna’s voice was fearful now, his hands on either side of Rythian’s head, staring fiercely into his eyes.  
Rythian flinched instinctively, easing his way out of Lalna’s grip. “I’m fine,” he said softly, recognizing the panic in the blonde’s expression.  
“You were thinking about it again, weren’t you?” Lalna’s tone was gentle, but his green eyes were alight with fire.  
“Yes,” Rythian said abruptly. “Now let’s talk about tonight’s plans.”  
Several hours and arguments later, they found themselves sitting facing the last rays of the sunset, legs hanging off the edge of a roof. It was a nice house they were sitting on; classy, probably a wealthy company owner.  
Rythian realized he was trying to think of anything but the job ahead, which Lalna was probably looking forward to.  
“Not too much blood,” he mumbled as a reminder when Lalna got to his feet.  
The blond laughed. “Come on, have some fun. The one in the south tower has to black out anyway.”  
Rythian huffed in annoyance. It was clear, when they’d really studied the floor layout of the area, that they’d need to disable the southern guard if they wanted to sneak past the west one.  
The sunlight disappeared completely, and Lalna launched himself off the building. He landed silently, and took off running.  
Rythian began counting. He’d give Lalna five minutes, and then he’d show up. The seconds ticked by slowly, the Shadow waiting. At the end of his count, he slid down the wall to the ground, pulling his scarf up higher and glaring up at the watchtower.  
Someting glinted silver the reflection of a dimly lit lamp, catching in his eyes. He growled in annoyance, quickly scaling the tower and slithering in the second highest window.  
Lalna grinned as Rythian glanced at the floor, crinkling his nose at the puddle of blood slowly spreading.  
“I told you not to kill anyone,” he said irritably.  
The was a dagger wound in the guard’s abdomen, and two knife strokes on his throat. Blood still trickled from the cuts, showing Lalna had only just met his deadline.  
“Whoops,” Lalna said jovially. “Gonna keep going?”  
“Sure,” Rythian said. “Let’s go.”  
The Shadow lept from the window across the room, landing on the nearby roof of the storage building. The next roof over should be where the meeting was.  
Lalna followed him silently as they crouched and made their way to the west corner, where the guard should’ve seen them. One after the other, they dropped to the ground.  
Rythian clung to the shadows while Lalna strolled along in plain sight, between the storage building and the outer wall. This was why it was so difficult to work with the blond; he had no caution, no forethought.  
He was smart enough to slink into shadow as they came into view of the two guards standing by outside the doors. The babble of voices could already be heard from inside, telling them the meeting was already in session.  
“They are going to be a problem,” a voice said from inside. “We thought you’d take care of him, at least, to minimize the casualties.”  
“I tried,” another man said. “Sounds said she’d tried, but Shadow fought her off.”  
The two assassins exchaged a glance. So their job tonight was known.  
“My way,” Lalna hissed at Rythian.  
“Mine,” argued the other. “Yours would get us killed.”  
“I do it my way, you do it yours?” Lalna suggested hopefully.  
Rythian hesitated. He could act as backup while Lalna was a distraction.  
“Okay,” he said. “But be careful, and give me a couple minues.”  
He dissolved into the darkness, leaving the blond to decide what to do. At times like this, when the situation was completely different from what they’d planned, they could only hope to pull it off without getting killed themselves.  
Only moments after Rythian had gotten himself into a good position on a ledge along the wall, Lalna burst through the doors with blood already dripping from the knives he held in his hands.  
“Good evening,” he said politely, bowing slightly to the small meeting.  
When Rythian properly looked at who was inside, he realized something that froze him in place. Nobody was dressed formally; nobody was seated. It was a decoy. There never was a meeting.  
Drawing his crossbow and alining a bolt took only a moment.  
“Hello,” said the man at the head of the group - Xephos, most likely. “How kind of you to join us.”  
And then a figure materialized behind Lalna, and Rythian knew with heart-stopping certainty that they’d been tricked.  
The King grinned at Rythian in his hiding place from over Lalna’s shoulder as he silently drew a thin knife, pressing it to the blond’s neck before the startled assassin knew what was happening.  
“Hello, Goggles,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve played.”  
Lalna fell still, his grip on his knives going slack and letting them fall to the floor. No one could hurt the King, or the underworld would be after you. The King’s eyes flicked from Rythian to Xephos, and he nodded his head politely.  
Lalna. The lone thought was stuck in Rythian’s mind as his purple gaze fixed itself on the knife against Lalna’s throat. Even with all of his training, Rythian wasn’t sure he could hit the King without hitting Lalna.  
“Whenever you’re ready, Xeph, darling,” the King said, his voice poisonously sweet.  
It appeared that the King had brought the best of his followers here tonight. A lovely voice drifted overhead, finishing the song she’d begun a week ago.  
 _"It’s hard to fight when you’re born in the middle, and I’d rather die than watch you giving in,"_ the song went.  
When she appeared, her expression furious and yet so forlorn, Rythian realized who’s song she was singing. She’d started her own song, a week ago. It wasn’t Lalna’s death song she’d sung. She’d been singing of her own death, sure the Shadow would kill her in his rage.  
Bare handed, she swung heavily at the King’s head, knocking him off balance. His grip on Lalna slackened as he staggered to recover his stance. The knife moved just enough for the blonde to scramble away, out of range.  
The King lunged at Nano. She didn’t bother to dodge, to block, to defend herself.  
She let it happen.  
The blade sliced halfway through her side. She froze, her fists clenched at her side, her eyes giving away the pain. The King twisted the blade, and she moved with it because it was the only thing holding her up. After a eternity, she fell, blood flowing freely onto the cobbled ground. The King let his knife stay buried in her, as a cruel parting gift.  
Lalna drew his sword, leaping to attack Ridge. Rythian tore his gaze from the blood-stained scene, looking towards Xephos, their inital target.  
The men had fled, leaving the fighting assassins in their wake. Rythian rose from his hiding place, and scrambled down to join the battle between King and assassin.  
By the time he arrived, the King lay dead in a pool of mixed blood. Lalna was by no means unscathed, but he was alive. Rythian pulled him close in relief, then stepped back and surveyed the scene.  
Nano lay dead, the King’s knife deep in her side. A few yards away lay Ridge, the King, covered in sword wounds. In the doorway of the building, two bloody knives sat, forgotten, on the ground. Slumped against the doorframe were two dead guards, their throats cut with identical slashes.  
“Long live the King,” Rythian muttered as he coldly surveyed Ridge’s body. Then, knowing Nano would want it, he sang softly to himself, a serenade for a dead man.  
 _"They looked into my eyes,"_ he began. He only knew two lines, the two Nano had mouthed as she died. _"I became invincible."_  
A heavy thump drew Rythian’s attention back to Lalna. He sat numbly on the ground, his sword loosely held in his hand. The Shadow offered him a hand, pulling him up and pulling him close, holding him against his chest.  
“Time to disappear?” Rythian murmured into the blond hair, supporting Lalna when he began to crumple again.  
The green eyes that were turned on him all but begged him. “Yes,” he said, and sank into Rythian’s arms without protest. “Please.”  
As he stared into Lalna’s eyes, Rythian realized there was more than one meaning to the last song Nano had sung. Looking into those endless green windows of pain and love, Rythian knew nothing would hurt him as long as he had Lalna - he was invincible.  
“I happen to be good at that,” Rythian said gently as he planted a kiss on Lalna’s bloody cheek. He picked him up, making his way out of the complex under a starry night sky.  
The underworld would be after their blood. Kirin would be hurt and angry that they hadn’t saved Nano. All of London would laugh because the best had fallen for a trick.  
Let them laugh.  
They would be long gone.


End file.
